


Goddess Business

by PeachyKeen_WithCream



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Drinking, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8390245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachyKeen_WithCream/pseuds/PeachyKeen_WithCream
Summary: Michele struggles to adjust to a new part of her relationship with Anders and Mitchell.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own 'Being Human' or 'The Almighty Johnsons' nor am I profiting off this.

Michele considers herself a worldly goddess capable of dealing with most things. She can handle being a nurse despite the disgust centering on sick people. She is capable of putting up with Loki and even leaving him with a goodbye knee to the balls. And somehow she is capable of putting up with a bratty poetry waxing god and ancient, broody vampire. 

This however she is not prepared for. 

Fuck, she was never prepared for parenting as children were not meant to be in the plan. 

Eve Sands is a surprise, thrust into her life just as Mitchell had been into theirs when he slammed the mop bucket into her feet.  


She cries too much - she spits up which is somehow worse than the patients occasional bouts of vomiting. The diapers are passed onto Anders who passes them onto Mitchell. The over sensitive vampire handles the task with his shirt yanked over his nose and tears brimming. Eve bangs her head against the floor during fits and Michele goes as far to consider calling her mother for advice. It takes a hard enough whack to leave a mark that Eve stops.

Michele is unprepared for the whole parenting dance. Eve Sands is the child of some werewolves and belongs to them. The custody has been handed over to Annie to them through a letter issued by her father. Was he not dead Michele would likely strangle him, demanding to know what made him think she could do this? 

Whenever Eve does not talk at over one year old, Michele feels a small curl of sickened relief for she cannot handle the ‘mama’ label any more than has already been handed over.

Eve is officially two and a half years and still Michele’s grip on the parenting dance is iffy at best. Anders handles the meal times; Mitchell the baths - together they’re an obnoxiously adorable force playing with her. She handles the other odds and ends which fall in between. This one just so happens to fall in between.

Michele takes a moment to stare and then gapes. From the couch Tom stares at her with what she decides is his normal expression: a hangdog puppy, worried of being kicked again. Beside him Annie fidgets, chewing on her lower lip and flapping her hands. The silence stretches thinner and thinner until finally Michele opens her mouth.

"What in the fuck?”

Tom’s hands immediately fly to cover her ears. Eve barely pays attention; focusing intently on the Lego in her hand.

"Don’t say that.” Tom frowns. “Eve’ll think you don’t like her.”  

Michele opens her mouth and then snaps it shut, glaring first at Tom and then at the still fidgeting Annie. Once long and blonde, her hair has been completely shorn save for a short sprig in the middle of her forehead.

"Tom was trying to warm up her food in the microwave, by the way you need a new microwave. I turned my back for five minutes and Eve got a hold of the scissors. Tom and I tried to fix it, but…” Annie mumbles, wringing her hands.

“Annie sorta went hysterical and broke a few things.” Tom tacks on.

Already the ghost is heading for the door, still fidgeting and mumbling excuses about this and that. She hears a mumble promising a new microwave the same moment Tom hands Eve over, hangdog expression hopeful as he strokes her newly shaved head.

It's hours later Michele sits with wine. By now Anders and Mitchell are both home and have seen Eve’s hair.

Anders reaction she supposes is partly the fault of Bragi: from the snort giggle to the doubled over, red faced laughing. Mitchell approaches it as he does most things: a near stoic face and shrug of the shoulders;, chewing the inside of his cheek as he lifts her with the promise of a movie.

Anders is still giggly about it, muffling the snorts into the crook of his elbow. He is wearing one of Mitchell’s sweaters again which no longer smells like Mitchell. From the bathroom she can hear the nightly fight of ‘open’ and ‘more please’ coupled with sighs and eye rolls and groans.

"Why did they have to choose Mitchell?” The wine glass rolls back and forth between her palms, liquid sloshing around and threatening to spill.

She teeters between tingling and melting. Beside her, Anders takes a swig directly from the bottle, licking the rim and winking at her as she rolls her eyes in disgust.

"We need more wine. And just what do you mean, dear goddess?"

"Why out of the all people in the world did they have to choose Mitchell to take care of her? Why couldn’t it be someone else?”

Now Anders is the one rolling the bottle back and forth between his palms, dragging his teeth across his lip. From the bathroom she can hear running water and then a gurgling shriek.

"There are a thousand possible logical reasons why they didn’t choose his parents, her parents - Annie or Tom. Had she been a werewolf, imagine his parent’s reaction when their granddaughter started to scream and shriek and flail and become this monster. Her mother was similar to mine - father unknown."

He takes another swig and sighs, stretching his legs out. Tossing an arm over the back of the couch, he reaches for her neck and starts rubbing.

"Annie is technically immortal. She could choose to ignore death or never complete her unfinished business and be here forever. Tom loves her, but has no idea of how to care for her beyond that.”

"Annie said she saw her door when she blew up the old ones - whatever those are, but she left it. The men with sticks and ropes? They don't scare her anymore.”

"Shit comes to a point you stop caring.” He shrugs, grinning lopsidedly at her. “I know all about that.”

Ghosts and werewolves and old ones are not part of goddess business. A wine bottle with spit on the rim, vampire wearing her polka dot socks, and gurgling child are goddess business now.


End file.
